


A Road Trip to Remember

by duhexenhase



Category: Dexter (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duhexenhase/pseuds/duhexenhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a break from soul-selling and demon-gate-opening, Dean plans a special trip with Sam that gets interrupted when something supernatural is afoot in Miami.</p><p>This is my first ever fan fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Being of the First Part In Which the Boys are in the Impala

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamtheprophet_chuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheprophet_chuck/gifts), [junkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkie/gifts).



Dean slapped his rough face, trying to knock the sleep from his eyes and deblur the world as he looked over the 5 hour energy drink display at the convenience store. The day was spent almost entirely in the Impala, with only a quick stop at the golden arches for a bathroom break. It had been hours since Sam, contorted and uncomfortable, curled himself into a ball in the passengers seat and drifted off. But Dean didn't have time for that. No, in the place of such niceties, he only had a few months. So sure, fine, it was a lie when he told Sam he'd just drive just a little longer 'til he found a cheap motel for them to spend the night. A little lie, nowhere near as big as the doozies that had been making their rounds lately. After all, he had a way to make things up to Sam. There'd be no rest for the wicked tonight. 

He did his best to stifle a long and wide yawn as he drummed his fingers. No luck though - it would figure that the smock behind the counter would be more interested in the late night infomercials than taking care of a waiting customer. You just don't work a shift that includes 2 am because you enjoy spending time with others. Some jobs go smoothest without the need to worry or care about anyone else. If only he had that luck.

“Hey, excuse me. These work?” Dean picked up a handful of the bottles. “I mean, if I take enough, could I drive all night and still be up for tomorrow? I gotta special day planned for tomorrow, and still got miles to go.”

“They'll do. Shoot, I got a buddy say he pulled three days on those once.”

“I'll take five then. And do you have any pie?”

* * *

As the night and the countryside rolled by, the worst part of it all was the music – the lack of it. Sure, Baby purred like a kitten, but with Sam snoring like a bear, Dean couldn't just blast the tunes, zone out, and just be there. He could almost hear the caffeine sloshing through his blood. At least it gave him something to focus, to think about other than the hell hounds on his trail.

Sam slept like a baby. Just as he did all those years ago when John pushed him to Dean's chest. “I promised Dad that I'd protect you. Be there for you. He forgot to tell me to keep you happy though. Look, I know what you're thinking,” he said to his sleeping brother, “and I can understand if you're pissed that I'm gonna, well, go, but before I'm gone I'm gonna give you something you never had, something I never even had. You're gonna feel the magic, count on it.”

* * *

The sun had already been up a few hours before the drive was done. Sam was already shifting constantly in his bed-seat. Slowly, carefully, Dean reached his hand down between Sam's ginormous legs and flipped open the glove compartment. He pulled out the two tickets and popped the old, scratched up cassette into the player. A quick turn of the volume nob primed the speakers to max. 

With a quick jab of his finger the opening lines of “Circle of Life” blared through the sound system and startled Sam awake.

He put on his best grin and slapped Sam on the knee. “Wakey, wakey, little Sammy! We're going to Disney World!”


	2. Being the Part Wherein the Boys Angst in a Place Other than the Car

Sam sat on the kid-sized bench outside of the gift store's changing room and gave his legs a good stretch. It wasn't the worst wake up call Dean ever gave him, but between the night in the Impala and a day standing in lines, he hadn't been able to get the crank off his face. His seat was no throne, but the air conditioned shop provided a modicum of courtly comfort. “I don't know why you thought of coming here,” Sam said. “It's not like there're a few oher things we could be to be doing. You know, like trying to save your soul?" Plus, with the colt and the knife in the car, don't you feel naked."

"I feel naked because I am naked - whole point of a changing room, Sammy."

"Seriously Dean? Now you're just trying to avoid the issue. We don't have the time to spend a day at each park.”

“Well we're gonna have to make the time," Dean said, punctuating with a slap of his hand on the door. "This is something I've been thinking about for awhile now, ever since Ben. He's like a mini me, and, you know, it's like when a guy wins the Super Bowl he says he's going to Disney. I think that, aside from the whole demon gate, soul selling, and potentially being the father of an 8 year old thing, I haven't been all that bad. I'll be damned if I don't get to enjoy the same reward.” Dean looked over to Sam. “You get it? Damned. You listening?”

Sam gave no reply. Dean hung his shirt over the changing room door and tossed his undershirt and jeans under the door. “Balls,” Dean said. “What're the odds that, mid-day Wednesday, the park would be as packed as it is. Shouldn't the rugrats be in school or something?”

“Why would they? We weren't, when we were their age, were we?” Sam said watching a pack of children playing tag race through the store. “Almost done in there? I can't wait to get back to all of the magic we were having.”

“Chill. It'll just be a sec. It's too damn sweaty out for flannel. Trust me, if you'd pick up something a little more breezy, you'd thank me later.” Dean stepped out from the room. It was hard to tell whose smile was larger, Dean's, the mouse on his shirt, or the ones on his shorts. He slipped the flannel around his waist and tied the sleeves together. “I could get you a set, too, if you'd want - If they come in gigantor-size. With what they charged at the gate, we could always take the five finger discount like the old days, and make it a B.O.G.O. deal.”

“Bogo?”

“Buy one, get one. Jesus, man. I thought you'd've known that. Hey, remember that one time we went shoe shopping and I'd made you try on those - ”

“Dean.”

“ - those sexy red heels. How I convinced you they were special hunter shoes, so you begged dad to get them for you?” Dean noted that, for the first time since he woke, Sam gave a real smile. It was nice to see.

“Yeah, I remember. Let's just get out of here. I mean, you've been humming "It's a Small World" since we got here, right. Maybe the line's died down? And we can give it another try.”

“Fucking A.”

“Just, if something comes up, we gotta deal with it. I'm having such a good time here,” Sam ran his hand through his floppy hair as he searched for the right words, “but you know, sometimes we have a job to do.”

“Alright. 'Sides, Sammy,” Dean said, finishing his ensemble with a Mickey hat, “unless something supernaturally fucked up happens, we might be forced to enjoy ourselves for a change.”


	3. Being the Part Wherein Something Supernaturally Fucked Up Happens

In a dark, cramped basement warmed by the hot day and made even warmer by people and candles, Cecile sits alone, numb. Her brother, dressed in his finest, is arranged on the table in the center of the room. His eyes are closed. They will never open again. A woman stands beside the table. The wife. She speaks and tries to laugh through the tears, but Cecile cannot hear the words. Around her are family and close friends - eating, talking. Gossiping. About her. She looks down and starts to pray the rosary.

“...and with what her husband did to Manny...”

“...can't believe Cecile would have the nerve...”

The mention of her name brings the world back to focus. She stands, crosses herself, and walks to her brother. To his body.

“You were taken too soon, Manny. Someone will pay for this.” She bends to kiss his forehead. She runs her hand one last time through his dark hair. With her hand balled in a fist, she makes her way up the stairs and out of the house.

* * *

A large candle drips on the embroidered altar cloth, mixing blood-red wax with the carefully crafted sand sigil. Opening her fist, Cecile takes the clump of hair pulled from the body and binds it to the doll with a length of twine. “Atibon Legba ,” she intones as she bites her lip and leans forward to kiss the blood on the small horned idol, “gate-keeper of the worlds, I ask that you return to me my husband. Baron Samedi, help me find the man who murdered Emmanuel that I might have my revenge. I ask this in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.” Drained and broken, she leaves the candle burning and crawls from the closet into her bed.

* * *

There is a noise from the kitchen. Wet and slipping, like something sliding over the tile. Cecile rolls out of bed. A break in. Wouldn't be the first. She creaks open the dresser, and reaches one of her husband's guns at the back of the underwear drawer. 

As she enters the moist kitchen, she draws the gun on the man. “Jean!” she says, joy her voice, “Jesus, I almost shot you. Where you been? I been worried sick over you. You been gone for days.” She puts the gun on the counter and rushes forward to hug him, and stops. His eyes are vacant, his face blank and hollow. His clothes dripping. She takes a step back. “You ok? You look like you're on something.” He lurches forward, sweeping a damp arm, slowly and deliberately, towards her, clenching his fingers deep into her shoulder. She tries to beat away his advance, but he's already on her, crashing her into the counter. The gun and broken glass splay across the floor. She wrenches herself from his grip, and grabs the gun.

“Get out. Get out! I swear I'll shoot.” Her hand shakes as she takes aim at his leg. Expressionless, he approaches. The gun goes off, cutting a neat hole through his thigh. Another step. Another hole.

He wraps his hands around her throat and lifts her against the wall. Only once she stopped kicking does he let go. She falls to the ground, empty. And like her, he falls too. There is no blood around the gunshot wounds. His skin pales, his stomach bloats, swells, and ruptures. His decayed flesh sloughs off his bones.

[Supernatural Logo]


End file.
